


Close Enough to Heaven

by formalizing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Exhibitionism, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-22
Updated: 2007-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam stumbles across a well-kept secret. John and Dean are determined to make him understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Enough to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rei_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/gifts).



> Rei asked for something with John. Ask and you shall receive.

This is as close to heaven as John Winchester will ever get, and it's close enough. A successful hunt, the colt in a bag by his side, both of his boys safe, and willing, hell, eager to help him finish something they didn't start, and to top it off, a hot mouth around his cock.

It isn't something he indulges in often, he makes sure of that, but when it's like this, sitting at the end of the bed with a head bobbing between his thighs, John can't remember why. For these few minutes, nothing seems to matter except the tongue flicking against his skin, and the way those lips close tight around him. Sure, it's wet, and messy, and _wrong_ , but God, there's no denying Dean's got the lips for it.

John's fingers tighten on Dean's neck with a sharp breath, digging into the skin on either side hard enough to leave bruises, and not for the first time, he wishes he'd have let Dean grow his hair out a bit when he was younger. Short looks sharp and befits a man, but it doesn't leave much to grab onto when Dean's on his knees and John desperately wants to get further into his mouth, his throat. He wonders if Dean would wince and groan around his dick as his hair was pulled, like the way he does when John's nails dig in hard enough to break the skin.

Keeping his eyes open when Dean's working his cock every way he can think of is impossible, but John likes to open them and stare down at Dean as long as he can when he can feel it's almost over. When the pressure's building in his gut, and every muscle starts to tighten, pulling tight as he stretches towards the ultimate end, he meets Dean's eyes, looking up at him from beneath too-long lashes. Dean always watches John as he sucks him, eyes dark as pupils widen and drown the green in black. John can feel the weight of that stare on him even when he's not looking, and he'd swear his son's eyes are so deep that when he does look, he could easily drown in them. In everything inside them.

" _Fuck_ , Dean," he rasps as his eyes fall closed again, head falling back and hand pushing Dean further down onto his cock, until he can feel those full, swollen lips around the very base. It's the only warning he can give before a fire so hot it's cold spreads through his veins, makes his hips snap up and his fingers clench as he spills himself into Dean's mouth, down his throat. He's coming so hard that he can feel Dean choking on it, everything tightening and spasming around him before Dean pulls back just enough that he can swallow around John's dick, take everything in. And that just makes another wave surge through him, forces an appreciative groan from him, rumbling in his chest.

What feels like it should go on forever never does, and soon the rush of pleasure slows, allows his tightly wound muscles and nerves to go slack, loosen all at once. John strokes his fingers through Dean's hair as he comes down, runs them over the marks he left with a sense of twisted pride as he looks down at them with half-closed eyes. Dean arches so slightly into the touch, not enough that anyone else would ever notice, licking at John's spent cock and looking up at him with one quirked eyebrow like he's waiting for further instruction. Dean's always been good at taking orders, John thinks as he brushes his thumb over his son's jaw.

He's contemplating dragging Dean up onto the bed, making him fist his cock and fuck himself with his fingers until John's ready to go another round, but a whimper draws his and Dean's attention to the other, nearly forgotten occupant of the room.

Sam's looking distinctly uncomfortable, tied up the way he is. He's biting down on the belt between his teeth so hard that it isn't much of a stretch to think he's about to bite right through it, and the obvious bulge in his jeans takes all the guesswork out of figuring out why. He's still squirming and pulling against the ropes on his wrists and ankles, even now that he has their attention, and the desperate look in his eyes, red of his cheeks, makes John chuckle.

"You ready to listen to reason now, Sammy?" he asks, and he grins as Sam nods fervently before the question's even out.

John knows Sam, much as Sam likes to argue that the opposite is true. He knew what Sam and Dean had started, even before Dean had told him, because it was all there in the way they touched, spelled out with every look they shared when they thought he didn't see. They were his boys, after all, and for all the years he spent with them, going across the country, crammed into the car and motel rooms, he'd learned a few things.

And when Sam left, he'd learned even more about Dean. Things he never thought, never planned, to learn. Like how Dean'll melt if you bite that one spot on his shoulder, or the way he rolls his ankles until they pop when he comes. Telling Sam was another thing he'd never planned, but it wasn't something he could avoid when Sam was standing there in the doorway, furious with them both, looking hurt and ready to storm off.

They'd tried talking to him, explaining, but Sam was in no mood to listen, had on what Dean liked to call his bitch face, and so they'd switched tactics. Still, even as Sam glared daggers up at them from where he was tied to the chair, John had known he'd come around, one way or another. Having to tie him down to make him stay was just a bonus.

He turns his focus back to Dean, tugging his hair to get his attention back, away from where Sam's still moaning, whimpering like a kicked puppy, and murmurs, "Look after your brother."

"Yes, sir," Dean says, standing without hesitation, automatic and immediate, like his knees aren't even aching from the hard floor. He makes to go to Sam, do as he's told, but stops and lets himself be pulled back and down when John's hand grips his wrist.

"I don't want him walking straight tomorrow," John growls against the shell of his son's ear, and they both know it isn't a suggestion.

Dean smirks with a nod of his head, licking at a spot of come, still sticky at the corner of his mouth, as John lets him go.

John moves up the bed, leans back against the headboard and pillows as Dean makes quick work of the ropes and Sam tosses the makeshift gag across the room, Dean's hands pulling Sam's shirt up and off as Sam's find their way into the jeans hanging low on Dean's hips, past the zipper John had torn open earlier. Dean swallows up Sam's moans in a kiss, quiets him with his tongue, and John can see the rope burn on Sam's wrist as his son's hand goes to Dean's neck, fingers settling easily into the marks he himself had left. They fit together like they were made to be that way.

When they break the kiss, Dean moving to bite at Sam's neck as he pushes the jeans and boxers down his brother's hips and legs in one fluid motion, John's content to just watch, wait to feel out where the boundaries lie between them all. Then Sam's eyes open -- slitted, dark cat's eyes -- and look straight into his, full of heat and want and a need John's never seen in Sam before. They're as enticing as the way Sam rolls his hips, thrusts up against Dean and moans under the sting of the teeth marking him. The invitation is clear.

And just like that, heaven gets a little closer.


End file.
